


A Flickering Light

by NancayLeena



Series: TWF: Middle Ground [1]
Category: Thumb Wrestling Federation (TV)
Genre: Death, Depression, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29771565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancayLeena/pseuds/NancayLeena
Summary: After the first fight of the season, a mysterious gray cat is left at the Dexteras’ door step beaten and injured to near death. As they get used to their new charge, they try to figure out not only where she came from, and who brought her to them, but also why she holds a fascination with the Sinistras. Particularly the ones that are in need of mental help.
Relationships: Cleat Cunningham & Firefly (OC), Corbata & Firefly (OC), Evil Ira & Firefly (OC), Hometown Huck & Firefly (OC), N Fuego & Firefly (OC), Ouch & Firefly (OC), Rolf The Reaper & Firefly (OC), Senator Skull & Firefly (OC), Vini Vidi Victory & Firefly (OC)
Series: TWF: Middle Ground [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188131
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue: Wasabi Vs. N Fuego

Early in the morning, as The Wrestling Federation stadium, TWF for short, began filling with people and getting ready for the live wrestling match shown to the evening audience at home. The two commentators were behind the curtain of their balcony seats doing some last-minute touch-ups before the wrestling match started. A loud clap of thunder sounded from outside. That made Colonel Cossack, a Russian man wearing a tall black  ushanka with a red star in the middle and a formal Russian military uniform, screamed. Because of his skittish nature, and jumped into the arms of Dick Thomson, who wore a more dressed down button-up white shirt and red tie, fell to the ground under the weight.

“I thought Big Time wasn’t fighting today!” Cossack questioned, still clinging to Dick.

Dick rolled his eyes and pushed Cossack off of himself as best he could. “Would you get off of me, Colonel?! That was not Big Time’s time bomb; it was the thunderstorm outside.” Dick said, exasperated. 

Cossack reluctantly got out of Dick’s lap with shaky relief and said with a slight chuckle, “O-oh, well. N-no need to be scared of puny thunder.” 

Dick shook his head in slight amusement, “Sure, Colonel. Whatever you say.” 

One of the staff’s supervisors warned that they were going live soon, so the two quickly got into position, and the balcony flooded with bright stadium lights. 

“Good evening wrestling fans and-” A loud crack of thunder interrupted them, and Cossack jumped onto Dick’s lap again and let out a loud scream. 

“Colonel, get off of me!” Dick demanded. He barely managed to push Cossack off. “Sorry about that, folks. There’s a storm outside, but that shouldn’t affect the match too much.” He said, looking over at Cossack, almost daring him to jump on him again.

Getting the hint, Cossack started mumbling about, ‘Stupid loud skies.’ and the match was allowed to begin. 

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” The announcer said over the loudspeakers, somewhat silencing the crowd.

“IN THIS CORNER,” he continued. The camera crew shifted their focus from the crowd to the right side of the ring. “HER SLAM POETRY WILL ACTUALLY INVOLVE SOME SLAMMING, REPRESENTING THE MIGHTY DEXTRAS, WASABI!” He finished. Wasabi came onto the ring as her stats came up next to her close-up for the audience at home. 

“Wasabi’s ready to bring the smackdown to any opponent that crosses her-”

BOOM!

Colonial screamed, wrapping his arms tightly around Dick.

“...path.” Dick said in a strained voice as he struggled to breathe.

“Sinistras of the world beware! You can’t compete, you can’t compare!” Wasabi yelled to hype up the audience. The audience held up signs with the Dextras logo screaming her name in excitement.   


“AND IN THIS CORNER,” the announcer started again. The camera crew shifted their focus to the other side of the ring. “THE ONLY THING HOTTER THAN HIM IS HIS OWN FLAMES, REPRESENTING THE EVIL SINISTRAS, N FUEGO!” He finished. The Latin heartthrob strutted out onto the ring, winking at the swooning female audience member as his stats came up next to his close-up for the audience at home.

“Colonial, get off me!” Dick said, pulling in off. “Wasabi will test N Fuego’s passion for dance with her passion for poetry. By the end of the match, we’ll see who overpowers who.” 

“The only passion more powerful than both of theirs is-” Thunder ripped across the air again, scaring Colonial and interrupting thought. Dick eyed Colonial, which seemed to keep from jumping on the poor man again.

“DEXTRAS! SINISTRAS! THROWDOWN!” The announcer called, signaling the wrestlers to start.

At the sound of the bell, N Fuego wasted no time turning on the charm as he often did when he fought female wrestlers. “I must say, Wasabi dearest, it’s an honor to be fighting someone of your stature.” He flirted, adding a wink and a smirk.

Wasabi barely hid her eye roll. “Whatever, man. Come up with a better plan.” She retorted. She attempted to punch him, but he, quite literally, danced out of away. 

“Oh, you are playing hard to get? I can work with that, mi amor.” N Fuego said, grabbing her arm mid-swing as the bell rang, ending the round. 

“Round one is over, and N Fuego doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere with Wasabi like it usually does with the female fighters.” Dick recapped. 

“She almost seems...used to his antics.” Colonial said, in a rare moment of curiosity. 

“Well, the Dextras have dealt with the Sinistras for about five seasons now.” Dick explained.

“No, like, more familiar than that.” Colonial stated before a loud clap of thunder made him jump. Dick moved out of the way to not be crushed by Colonial's weight again. Before anyone could say anything further, the second round bell rang.

N Fuego grabbed a bouquet of colorful flowers from the side of the ring. “Perhaps some flowers will soften you, mi querida.” He said with a confident smirk. 

Wasabi looked at the bouquet, took a blue flower from it, and twirled it with her fingers with a bored expression. She calmly put the plant back, “Cute. I still think you’re a slimy brute.” Wasabi said, with an almost tired and put-out tone. 

The action shocked N Fuego that the paper the flowers were wrapped in began to smoke from where his palm was clutching it. “I...you...maybe you’re not the flowers type.” He stammers, tossing the somewhat destroyed flowers outside the ring, trying not to lose his cool in front of the audience. 

Dick’s commentary wasn’t helping his resolve. “He’s not getting anywhere with Wasabi. And she almost seems bored with his attempts.” He said inquisitively, almost considering Colonial theory of them being more familiar with each other than they should.

From ringside on the Sinistra’s corner, Senator Skull was getting tired of N Fuego trying to toy with his opponent and just wished he would start fighting her alrighty. “N FUEGO! Get on with it! This is why the commissioner stopped putting you up against the female fighters! Just skips this and fight her!” 

Vini Vidi Victory, always willing to annoy Senator Skull, shouted from the Dextras corner, “You’re doing great, Wasabi! Show him who’s boss!” 

Before anyone could really react, a thunderous clap made an ear-splitting sound. The lightning that preceded it must have been close because not only did the TWF building’s lights start flickering for a bit, it also began to shake, putting everyone in a panic. The two wrestlers in the ring were trying to regain their footing. N Fuego was shakingly holding himself upright while holding onto the ringside ropes. Wasabi wasn’t so lucky since she was closer to the middle and couldn’t grab anything to keep herself upright. She was getting ready to accept her inevitable fate when she felt a hand grab her forearm and pull her towards the edge, where her other handheld the person’s shoulder to keep herself steady. The unreliable lights made it hard to see who it was helping her, though she had a good guess; at the moment, she didn’t care; she just closed her eyes and hoped that the chaos would end soon. After a few seconds longer, the lights finally stayed on, the shaking stopped, and the panicking crowd began to settle down. Wasabi felt it was safe enough to open her eyes. To see N Fuego was the one holding her close, while not surprising, was disheartening. His smile could easily be mistaken for warmth or loving to anyone familiar with him; it was sinister and cold in reality. She was right where he wanted her. The bell rang out, signaling the end of the second round. 

Dick pulled Colonial off just slightly, knowing he would be back on him next time the thunder blared out. “Round two is over, and with a little help from the storm N Fuego seems to have Wasabi set up for his deadly forbidden dance finally!” Dick commented, noting Wasabi’s lukewarm expression. “I wonder, though, I wasn’t expecting Wasabi to fall for any of his tricks, but to be this despondent about it is almost unheard of.” He continued inquisitively. 

He waited for Colonial to say something about his speculation, but he was still too scared from the previous brownout to pay attention to what was said. Before he could correct it, the third round bell rang.

N Fuego, still a little peeved that Wasabi didn’t give him much to work with, said in a smooth, syrupy voice that had an undertone of bitterness, “You may be able to resist my charm, but no one can resist my fire. The heat is on! CAN YOU TAKE IT!” He yelled, and he began to do the tango.

He liked this particular dance because of how fast it was, which generated more heat for him than other dances could and kept him close to his opponent. It also made it hard for them to keep up with him; everyone aside from Knockout Ninja has yet to be able to. N Fuego found this mildly annoying, but it won him matches; he couldn’t complain too much. When he started with the dance, he noticed that the frustrated look on Wasabi’s face morphed into a cold and calculated one. Her focus was decidedly not on him but the floor, more specifically their feet, while the heat started to build up. While the dance continued, he noticed that not only was she keeping up with him, but she was doing quite well dancing along with the track that was currently playing over the speakers. It would have felt nice if she looked him in the eye! The heat was getting stronger now, and while Wasabi was clearly uncomfortable, she was still in step with N Fuego, impressing him further. While N Fuego was contemplating forcing her head up in a fit of frustration, she tilted her head up, revealing a dull, blank look. Before he could comment on it, she, still dancing with him, leaned in closer to his face. 

He almost believed she would try for a kiss, but Dick’s commentary about Wasabi’s signature move shot that thought down quickly. Before he could make any move to stop it, she started to whisper the words to the supposed ‘Best Poem Ever.’ To say he was blown away by her words was an understatement. As the words left her mouth, he felt like he was having an out-of-body experience, looking at himself having a life he never experienced. It started with N Fuego feeling like he was so alone, cold, and sad that it made his head spin. Then, it felt like he couldn’t breathe when people began to circle him, pointing and laughing as they snidely pointed out every insecurity he had. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get past the crowd or take in any air to scream. Then, he felt like he was working up the nerve to say something to a group of people that were more interested in their coffee/deadlines than whatever was happening on stage. Then, there was a feeling of euphoria from praise and admiration that not only felt great but terrifying since the need to keep being better felt almost crushing. It then felt like all he was doing was wearing a mask of someone who seemed more put together when in reality, he was one bad moment away from breaking down into a fit of tears and rage. Finally, he felt numb. Everything did and didn’t hurt, and it was scary but comforting to know that his walls were working as they should.

When Wasabi finished, N Fuego felt like he was flung back into himself and noticed that not only were they still dancing, but it was much slower to the point where it looked more like a waltz than the tango. He didn’t have it in him to express how impressed he was with that as N Fuego felt he had the wind knocked out of him. He tried to say something, realizing Wasabi pulled away from him, finally looking him in the eye. The words were stuck in his throat, noticing tears that formed at the corners of his eyes. 

Wasabi mumbled a bitter but weak, “You haven’t changed since high school, have you?” 

N Fuego tried to say something, anything, but the words just wouldn’t come out. He didn’t have to worry about that for long, though, as she grabbed his shoulders and pushed him down to the mat with minimal effort. The final bell rang, signaling that the match was over and Wasabi had won. 

“And Wasabi takes the first victory for the Dextras this season. What a start, if a little, worrying near the middle.” Dick said, happy for the Dextras. Another thunderclap outside made Colonial launch himself into Dick and wrapped his arms around him so tightly that Dick almost couldn’t breathe. “Ack! G-good night everybody!” He stammered out, hoping that the camera crew would stop recording soon.

* * *

Once the match was over, both teams went to their respective HQs. The Sinestras were not pleased by the loss, not just because they had lost, but because Senator Skull would go into another tired rant about needing to win this season so that he could enact his first step into his world domination plan. The entire team had heard this speech so many times they could probably recite it by heart, not that they’d want to. It also meant that the recent loser would be in for significant shit with the rest of the team until the Sinistras either won a different match or someone else lost. The only exception was when Senator Skull lost. Everyone walked on eggshells around him until the next match.

Halfway through the speech, however, Senator Skull noticed that N Fuego was staring off into space, not looking at anything in particular, with a glazed-over look in his eyes. He seemed to be in deep thought about something. 

“N FUEGO!” Senator Skull yelled, momentarily snapping N Fuego out of it. 

“AY! Um, sí, yes?” N Fuego stammered, getting a chuckled from his other teammates.

Evil Ira, seeing his discomfort, said in a thick Transylvanian accent, “You’ve been a bit out of it since ze match with Wasabi. Did ze Best Poem Ever impress you zat much?” 

“I...I don’t want to talk about it.” N Fuego said, folding his arms on the table and put his head down, facing forward.

Cheetah, never one to miss her chance to bother someone, jokingly asked, “Was it a love poem?” 

“No.” N Fuego said, in an uncharacteristically flat tone, not even bothering to look in her direction.

Any further mischief that Cheetah could’ve conjured from him evaporated immediately. “Wow...It must be something. What is it about, then?” She asked, genuinely curious.

The other Sinistra who had heard it got quiet and uncomfortable, the only exception being Dwayne Bramage, who was gnawing on the counter. 

Senator Skull adjourned the meeting in a rare moment of mercy, staying behind as other Sinistras filed out and pretending to look through strategies.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the Dextras HQ, they were congratulating Wasabi on her win. She looked drained but happy with the outcome. Especially when she remembered the lost and desperate look on N Fuego’s face as his mouth uselessly hung open, trying to will the words to come out, but nothing happened.

Everyone started to pack up and head home when they were interrupted by loud and frantic knocking at the entrance door. It was odd since neither HQ was accessible to the public. They were going to ignore it, figuring it was probably a Sinistra attempting to play a prank on them for their loss. The knocking only became worse and more animalistic. 

It was only when the knob started to turn uselessly. The metal door began to warp due to the force of the knocking that Cleat Cunningham, the previous season’s champion, decided to investigate since he was one of the closest wrestlers to the door. “Alright! Alright! I’m coming!” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the knocking and knob turning stopped suddenly. Cleat had half the mind just to ignore it and go back to his locker, but his curiosity got the better of him. He put his ear to the door to try and listen for anyone. When he heard nothing except the hard downpour of rain and muffled thunder, he unlocked the door and opened it.

Nobody was there. 

Slightly miffed at the juvenile prank, Cleat was about to head back inside when he heard a struggling breath below him. He reflexively looked down and gasped in horror at what he saw.

On the doorstep, poorly wrapped in a gym towel that was stained red, was a small grey anthropomorphized cat. Its clothes were torn to rags and soaked through in blood from the numerous cuts on its face, body, arms, and legs in varying states of healing. The worst wounds were on its left shoulder and the right calf, which was dangerously oozing blood. Its body was littered with black, blue, and purple bruises of varying sizes. Both the blood and bruises made it hard to see, but old burn scars were also on the right half of its body. 

Cleat’s eyes welled with tears at the horrid sight of the poor creature. In his shock, he almost didn’t notice the cat looking at him with swollen, barely open dark purple eyes, the whites of their eyes more pink in color. One second into their impromptu staring contest made one thing painfully evident to Cleat; it didn’t have much longer to live. As carefully as possible to hopefully cause little discomfort to the suffering cat, he picked it up from the doorstep and rushed back inside. 

“GUYS! GUYS!” He yelled, panicked, and ran to where the rest of his teammates were.

“‘Ey, what’s the matta Cle-OH, MY GOD!” Vini exclaimed when he turned his attention from his gym bag to Cleat, holding the horribly injured creature while its blood dripped onto the concrete floor. 

The other Dextras crowded around Cleat to see what the fuss was about and was just as horrified as him and Vini. “What happened to it?” Ouch, a man forever encased in casts and bandages asked gingerly, taking the cat from Cleat’s trembling arms. 

“I...I don’t know! I just found it like this!” He answered, looking down at his blood-soaked arms and shirt in a state of shock. 

The only thing Cleat could comprehend after that was Ouch frantically telling the others that he would take it to their infirmary before the stress of the situation became too much and he blacked out.


	2. Chapter 1: You Wound Not Believe Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's reaction to the cat waking up.

The first thing that cat was aware of when she woke up of the dull pain in every part of her body. Her eyes, mostly since they were swollen and pink, took a lot of effort to keep open. The second thing she noticed was the room’s white walls and the sound of medical equipment she connected to, calming her nerves a little. 

_ ‘The cage never had anything more than basic first aid.’  _ She thought to herself, looking around the room, noting the differences. The only thing she hated was how white, and subsequently bright, the room was. While it was hard to keep her eyes open already, the room’s natural brightness was making it harder to keep them that way. Not that she could voice those complaints with the oxygen mask over her mouth. Which led her to notice both the IV drip attached to her lower right arm and the suction cups of a heart monitor connected to various parts of her chest; from the steady rhythm of the beeps, she assumed that her heart was at least stable. This led her to notice the bandages on her upper body, her left arm in a sling, and believed there were bandages on her lower body too but couldn’t see them due to the blanket. She wasn’t sure how long she was lying there listening to her heart monitor when a door opened, and three figures walked in. Two she recognized, the other she didn’t, but given the attire and his face buried into a clipboard, she assumed the third one to be a doctor.

The other two, whom the doctor referred to as ‘Cleat’ and ‘Ouch,’ looked like they hadn’t slept well if the bloodshot/drooping eyes were anything to go by, being told her condition by the doctor. “Well, the good news is that she’s stable. The bad news is that her injuries range from small cuts and abrasions to stabbing, internal bruising, broken bones due to the two bullet wounds on her shoulder and leg, and burn marks, particularly around her neck as the ones on the right half of her body are too old to treat. I don’t think I need to tell you about the bruises littering her entire body.” The doctor told them, scribbling notes of the clipboard all the while. 

“WAIT! Bullet wounds?!” Cleat said, acting as though he got splashed with cold water. 

Ouch’s head shot up too but didn’t say anything yet. She liked Cleat’s English accent, mostly for how familiar it was to her.

“Yes, the one from her shoulder seems to have gone straight through, the one on her leg though; that one was a little messier. We spent quite a few hours operating on her leg alone, trying to find all the bullet shards.” He answered back blandly. “As I said, she will live; it’s just going to take a little longer for her to wake up-”

“Uh, doc...she’s awake.” Ouch pointed out, interrupting the doctor’s spiel. 

He finally lifted his head from the clipboard and confirmed that her eyes were indeed open and looking in their direction, listening to everything said about her. This was concerning, as injuries of her numbers and magnitude should have kept her asleep for at least a few days, maybe a week. Give that; he thought the best thing to do was put her in a medically induced coma. When he brought it up to the two men, the heart monitor beeping accelerated, her breathing became quicker along with muffled screaming, her eyes widened as much as they could through the swelling, and she began to shift further to the right of the hospital bed to somehow get herself further from the approaching doctor. 

Cleat moved to get in front of him as he was only upsetting her more. While he was busy with that, Ouch slower shuffled towards her, hoping that it would give her a little time to calm down. Once he was close enough, he put a hand on her right hand, mindful of the bruises and bandages, and began to rub soothing circles on it with his thumb and mumbled that it would be alright. After a few minutes of this, her heart rate and breathing calmed down, but her fear was still present in her eyes. 

Ouch gave her a small reassuring smile and said, “Hey, it’s okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you here.” 

The cat made a noise that sounded like a snort as if to say, ‘I don’t believe you.’ 

Ouch frowned a little at this before his smile returned, “Well, hey, if it makes you feel better, I get injured pretty easily, so we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. I’ll watch out for you here.”

The cat just looked at him for a moment, eyes still ‘wide,’ tightened her grip on the hand that was still holding hers as tears silently fell.

* * *

The other Dexteras were sitting in the shared lunch area for both teams waiting anxiously for Cleat and Ouch to come back with news about the cat. Something the Sinistras were quick to notice. The Dextras were used to the mumblings of Senator Skills plans, so they weren’t too surprised when he had his whole team, begrudgingly, crowd around Sinistra’s table to discuss the upcoming match. The matches don’t usually get revealed to the wrestlers until about a week before the set date, so everyone had to be ready to go up next. Both teams were interrupted from their thoughts by a steady beeping. The Dextras gasped somewhat simultaneously and began to talk worriedly over one another. All of which wore on Senator Skull’s alright short patients. 

Finally having enough, Skull let out a frustrated growl and slammed his fist on the table loudly enough to get everyone’s attention. “Will you all shut up! And what is that insistent beep...ing…” His rant petered out when he saw the cat sitting on a wheelchair decked out with a portable heart monitor, oxygen tank, and IV drip, looking at him and offering him nothing but a slow blink as an answer. “...What...is that?” He asked after a long awkward silence, trying not to stare at her numerous injuries. 

She took a deep breath and tilted her head to the side after the comment like she was attempting to sign in apathy. Some of the other Sinistras found that funny but got quickly silenced by Skull’s stern glare.

Vini, turning his attention away from Skull and back to Cleat, asked him, “Are ya sure this is a good idea. I mean no disrespect, but...she doesn’t look like she should be outta bed.” 

Cleat looked down at her, knowing Vini was right, but the freak-out with the doctor and her not letting go of Ouch’s hand when they attempted to leave meant that some compromises had to be made. “She was uncomfortable being left alone with the doctor, and we couldn’t eat our lunch inside the clinic, so we compromised with this. Doc said that as long as we don’t have her moving on her own, this should work fine for now.”

She nodded at the end of his explanation like she was backing up his claims. 

Vini chuckled, finding the action cute. “Well, if the doc’s okay with it, I guess I am too. What’s your name, little guy?” He asked, crouching down to her level.

She slowly lifted her arm and tapped on the breathing mask, implying that she couldn’t talk with it on.

“Oh...well, that makes things...difficult...” Vini said, trying to think of a solution.

While that was happening, the other Sinistras proceed to gawk at her, notable her left arm sling and right leg cast.

“Like, what do you think happened to that thing?” Amoeba said, filing her nails. 

“The Big Time thinks it met the wrong end of a baseball bat.” Big Time speculated somewhat jokingly. This earned him a glare from N Fuego, who had been picking at his lunch, a simple salad, the entire time. Noticing this, Big Time rolled his eye and retorted back, “Oh, what? You got a problem with what I said, punk? Go take it with some who cares, you animal lovin’ turkey!” 

N Fuego’s responded with an eye roll of his own and went back to picking at his food. Very unusual as he never had a problem engaging in verbal fights with his other teammates, sans Senator Skull.

While Vini and the rest of the team were still thinking, no one had anything she could write with, so that opinion was out; Ouch suddenly got an idea and pulled out his tablet from the medical bag he always had on him and typed something on it before showing the screen to her. It was an image of the alphabet in ASL. “I know a little sign, so why don’t you sign out the letters in your name, and we’ll go from there.”

“Aces idea, Ouch!” Cleat exclaimed, happy for the solution. “Go on, chap, try it.” He urged as she looked over the letters and hand shapes. 

Once she found the ones she was looking for, she silently raised her hand and slowly formed the letters. First was the ‘okay’ sign, ‘F.’ Next was every finger curled into a fist except for her pinky, ‘I.’ Next, every finger except her first and middle fingers were curled into a fist, the fingers left out were lightly crossing, ‘R.’ Next, all her fingers curled inward but didn’t close enough to make a fist, ‘E.’ Another ‘okay’ sign, ‘F.’ Next was what looked like the universal sign for ‘loser,’ ‘L.’ Finally, every finger with curled into a fist except for her thumb and pinky, ‘Y.’ She put her arm back the wheelchair’s armrest, signaling she finished.

“Fire...fly?” Ouch questioned. 

She affirmed with a nod. 

Mr. Extremo seemed to like the girl’s name. “BODACIOUS name, little DUDETTE! Do you have, like, FIRE powers or SOMETHING?!” 

His voice bothered her since she winced every time he raised his voice slightly but answered with a shake of the head, no.

No one who watched the exchange noticed the smoke coming from N Fuego’s fork or how badly said hand was shaking.

“BUMMER, dudette. Why’s THAT your name then-OW!” Mr. Extremo’s question was interrupted by Pei Pei, The Purple Panda slapping him over the head.

“Extremo, that was very rude! She doesn’t have to answer if she doesn’t want to...Not that she really can anyway.” Pei Pei scolded while Mr. Extremo nursed his head. 

While Firefly didn’t like the question, it wasn’t particularly difficult for her to answer, even if she couldn’t physically say it. Noticing a fair amount of attention was still on her, she raised her hand to the right side of her face where her burn marks were and scratched at it.

It took a few seconds before the look of horror slowly manifested onto their faces. 

Pei Pei smacked Mr. Extremo once again. “OW! Yeah...I deserved that.”

“Now, that’s just cruel...” Vini said uselessly, letting the information sink in.

Evil Ira, who was sitting next to N Fuego, smelled melting metal. Confused, he looked over saw N Fuego’s fork was utterly unrecognizable and ruined his uneaten lunch. His face twisted into a scowl, eyes were literally on fire, and both his hands were clenched in shaking fists and bright red. This was a reaction Ira’s never seen before in his life. While they weren’t exactly friends, he felt the need to snap him out of it since the look was rather scary. 

“Um, hey?” Ira said, putting a hand on his shoulder, and shook it a bit to get N Fuego’s attention. 

He immediately snapped out of it. The fire in his eyes was gone, his hand slowly went to his standard color, and his expression replaced with surprise with wide eyes. He noticed the state of his fork and his food and signed exasperated. 

“Uh, N Fuego...are you alright?” He heard Ira ask. He looked up to notice him; he then realized that a lot of eyes were on him, even some of the Dexteras took notice of his distress. 

Not feeling up to explaining himself, he wiped the cooling metal off of his hand with a napkin and threw his ruined salad away, proclaiming he wasn’t hungry, and walked out. Making a point to ignore Firefly’s curious gaze as he left.

Trying to ignore his outburst, everyone went back to eating lunch and talking among themselves. Firefly mostly observed the activity around her since she could barely interact with them. She couldn’t stop looking over at the opposing table, though, mainly where N Fuego sat and some of the other Sinistras with more animal traits, Billy Goatetsky, Sir Serpent, and Scorchion, most notably. Whenever she looked around at the Dexteras, she would pay special attention to Cleat and Ouch but occasionally would hold her gaze on the Dextreas with animal traits, Weredog, Gill, Tom Cat, Mahi Mahi Mindy, and Fly Guy. 

She found it in the old that there were mutants on either team. Firefly badly wanted to ask questions but was not only physically unable to but also didn’t want to overstep her bounds and say something that could anger her new caretakers. 

Slowly, as people finished their lunch, they’d leave the canteen to go back to training at their teams’ respective gyms. Cleat and Ouch were predictably one of the last ones to leave behind Scorching. Before they could take Firefly back to the clinic with Ouch, Scorchion nervously walked up to the two. This was odd as he usually had a cocky and arrogant air about him. 

“Do you need something, Scorchion?” Cleat asked curtly, noting how he carried himself at that moment. His hands were deep in his pockets, his scorpion-like tail was down but twitching uncontrollably, back hunched over, shoulders shaking, and he was nervously biting on his lower lip as if to try and stop himself from saying something stupid. 

This was worrying behavior, so Cleat asked again, with a bit less heat, if he needed something. That snapped him out of it somewhat as he proceeded to clear his throat before pulling a sharpie out of one of his pockets. “Could I sign her cast?” He finally asked, slightly annoyed by his lisp, making him seem more nervous.

It was such a simple request, but one that made both Cleat in Ouch look at him in shock. Not understanding what the fuss was about, Firefly twitched her left arm and then her right leg as if to ask him, ‘Which one?’

Taking that as enough of a confirmation, Scorchion calmly knelt to Firefly’s level and gingerly wrote his name on the cast on her leg since the one on her shoulder was a little cumbersome. Instead of it be a big obnoxious signature that would make it impossible for anyone else to sign if they wanted to, it was a small, barely legible name on the upper edge of the cast. Cleat and Ouch looked at him bewildered. 

“What? I’m a Sinistra, not a monster.” Scorchion said as if that explained his odd behavior. 

As he turned and walked away, leaving the two stunned Dextras alone, he pulled out his phone from the other pocket and began to text in a group chat, ‘Meet me at the pier. We need to talk.’

“Do you need something, Scorchion?” Cleat asked curtly, noting how he carried himself at that moment. His hands were deep in his pockets, his scorpion-like tail was down but twitching uncontrollably, back hunched over, shoulders shaking, and he was nervously biting on his lower lip as if to try and stop himself from saying something stupid. 

This was worrying behavior, so Cleat asked again, with a bit less heat, if he needed something. That snapped him out of it somewhat as he proceeded to clear his throat before pulling a sharpie out of one of his pockets. “Could I sign her cast?” He finally asked, slightly annoyed by his lisp, making him seem more nervous.

It was such a simple request, but one that made both Cleat in Ouch look at him in shock. Not understanding what the fuss was about, Firefly twitched her left arm and then her right leg as if to ask him, ‘Which one?’

Taking that as enough of a confirmation, Scorchion calmly knelt to Firefly’s level and gingerly wrote his name on the cast on her leg since the one on her shoulder was a little cumbersome. Instead of it be a big obnoxious signature that would make it impossible for anyone else to sign if they wanted to, it was a small, barely legible name on the upper edge of the cast. Cleat and Ouch looked at him bewildered. 

“What? I’m a Sinistra, not a monster.” Scorchion said as if that explained his odd behavior. 

As he turned and walked away, leaving the two stunned Dextras alone, he pulled out his phone from the other pocket and began to text in a group chat, ‘Meet me at the pier. We need to talk.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Anything I could improve. Please let me know.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think? What could I improve. Anything that needs changed? Let me know.


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